Sherlock and the Little People
by Doctor Napalm
Summary: It's St. Patrick's Day and Molly has a surprise waiting for her in the morgue! Rated T for some curse words.
1. Chapter 1

**Sherlock and the Little People**

By Doctor Napalm

Chapter 1

Even though she didn't feel cold, Molly Hooper shivered a bit as she looked at the outdoor thermometer in her window. Mid-March and it was only 4°C outside. It was warm in her flat, but she couldn't wait for the weather to warm up as well. She looked at the clock on the wall, and frowned. It was time to leave for work. Molly worked as a pathologist in the morgue at St. Bartholomew's Hospital, the oldest hospital in London. Taking her coat off its hook, she shrugged into it and checked to see that her cat Toby's food and water bowls were full. Making sure the door locked behind her, she headed for the underground.

As she settled into a seat on the tube, she glanced at the young man across from her who was wearing an enormous bright green bow tie with tiny shamrocks printed on it. His hair was tinted a matching shade of green. Molly blinked a couple of times and then realized today was Saint Patrick's Day. The man noticed her looking at him and smiled. He lifted the lapel of his jacket to reveal a large button with "Kiss Me, I'm Irish!" printed on it and smiled again. Molly blushed a bit and turned her head away. She spent the rest of the time in transit trying to avoid looking at the strange man sitting across from her.

Walking into her office at Bart's, Molly looked at a small pile of papers on her desk, the daily mail along with other assorted official documents. On the top was an autopsy order from the Metropolitan Police. As a pathologist, performing autopsies was one of her primary duties. She skimmed over the details of the corpse waiting for her to cut it open as she took off her coat and draped it over the back of her chair.

The customer was one Patrick Kavanagh from Dublin, aged 43 with red hair, a height of 0.95 meters, weight…Molly paused. Less than a meter tall? Apparently Mister Kavanagh was a dwarf, midget, pigmy, or whatever terminology was politically correct these days. The blank for cause of death was left empty because determining cause of death was her job. The body had been discovered in an alleyway overnight and had been sent directly to Bart's for her to examine. Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade's bold signature was at the bottom of the form.

Molly quickly leafed through the other papers. None of them were as interesting as Patrick Kavanaugh's autopsy order, so she decided to make that her first order of business. She picked up the order, put on her lab coat, and headed for the autopsy room.

Billy the intern was sipping coffee from a mug that said "Property of Superman" on it when Molly walked in the room. "Good morning, Doctor Hooper!" he said in a cheerful tone.

"Good morning, Billy," she answered. "Ready to start the day?" Billy reminded Molly of the character "Shaggy" from the old Hannah-Barbera cartoons; tall and thin with a fluffy light brown head of hair, a few hairs on his chin that he wished would someday turn into a goatee, and a penchant for slogan t-shirts. Today's shirt was dusty brown in color and had a drawing of a bone with the words "I Found This Humerus."

"I sure am," he said, "who's on first?"

"I think we'll take a look at Patrick Kavanagh first. Based on his stats, it might be very interesting."

Billy pointed to a body bag towards the far end of the room. "That's him over there. He just came in a little while ago, the body hasn't been prepped yet."

Molly moved over to the body bag on the autopsy table. Billy sat down his coffee mug and followed her. She could tell the body inside was that of a diminutive person without even opening it because half of the bag lay flat on the table. The only other time a bag looked like that was when a major portion of the body was missing.

Billy moved to the other side of the table as Molly said "Let's take a look at you, Mister Kavanagh," and started to pull down the zipper. She was startled when a long purple feather suddenly popped up out of the bag.

"Oh!" she blurted out and jerked her head back. Looking in the bag, she saw that the feather was attached to a dark green velvet caubeen cap on the head of her customer. Taking the cap off revealed thick coarse red hair that matched a full red beard.

Pulling the zipper further down, Molly examined the rest of the body. Kavanagh was wearing a jacket made of matching green velvet with zebra striped lapels over a white shirt with lace cuffs, black knickerbocker trousers, a wide black belt with a large, square silver buckle, white knee length silk stockings, and black leather shoes with silver buckles that matched the one on his belt.

Molly and Billy looked up from the body at the same time and their eyes met. "Leprechaun!" they both screamed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Sherlock and the Little People**

By Doctor Napalm

Chapter 2

Molly returned to her office and looked through the rest of the morning mail while Billy and another intern removed Mister Kavanagh's clothing and x-rayed the body. There were several invitations to various seminars on forensic pathology over the next few months. Some looked quite interesting, she could count on those being considered either not important enough or too expensive to attend by her supervisor. On the other hand, she could count on being required to attend at least one of the boring ones. There was also plenty of the usual paperwork to be completed and filed in triplicate as well as two other routine autopsies to be performed. However, there was nothing nearly as interesting as the autopsy of a leprechaun. It was very strange indeed, she thought. Strange enough that it might prove quite interesting to her friend and love interest, Sherlock Holmes. She picked up the phone on her desk and hit the speed dial key.

A few moments later he answered, "Good morning, Molly, do you have something unusual for me to look at?"

Molly smiled. Sherlock almost always knew why she was calling. His deductive powers were absolutely amazing sometimes. "Why would you say that, Sherlock?" she teased.

"It's barely past eight o'clock and you're ringing me up," he said. "You just arrived at work and almost immediately called me, so it is most likely there was something strange waiting for you when you arrived. Something out of the ordinary that you thought needed my special expertise."

"Well, yes," Molly replied. "There's a _**little**_something here in the morgue this morning that I think you might be very interested in." She smiled at being able to squeeze the word "little" into their conversation.

"And what might this interesting thing be?"

"I don't want to spoil the surprise, but I will say it involves an autopsy I'm going to perform later today. I thought you might want to come over and give me a _**little**_help, I'm a bit _**short**_-handed today. Why don't we meet in a _**little**_ while for lunch and you can help me afterwards?"

Sherlock agreed to book a lunch table at the Drunken Monkey, a Dim Sum restaurant and bar near Barts, and they said goodbye. Molly smiled again and turned back to her paperwork.

**ɸ**

Molly idly stirred what was left of her spicy soup and tried to remember everything she knew about leprechauns. She knew that they were short little Irish gremlin-like characters that, up until now, she had considered to be completely imaginary. They were magical in some way and had a pot of gold stashed somewhere at the end of a rainbow. If you captured them it was lucky somehow. She still considered them imaginary; Mister Kavanagh surely was just dressed up like that for the Saint Patrick's Day holiday.

Sherlock reached across the table and snitched the last spring roll from her plate. "How's your soup?" he commented.

"Oh!" Molly lightly exclaimed. "Sorry. I was…I was thinking about a little something," she stammered. "The soup, it's…um…it's…magically delicious!"

Sherlock cocked one eyebrow and nibbled a bit on his pilfered spring roll. "I noticed your preoccupation; is it about this mysterious autopsy you told me about on the telephone?"

Molly hesitated and then gave Sherlock a coy smile. "Yes, sort of," she said in a teasing tone of voice.

"So how about a little hint?"

She tittered and repeated, "A _**little**_ hint?"

"Yes," Sherlock said in a slightly annoyed tone of voice, "a little hint."

Molly thought for a moment. "I guess you could say today might just be our _**lucky**_ day, it's got me _**green**_ with anticipation!"

"The color green is usually associated more with envy than anticipation," Sherlock noted, "a rather interesting choice of words."

Molly studiously ignored his comment. She thought using the word "green" was very appropriate given the circumstances. She picked up one of the two fortune cookies that the waitress had left on the corner of the table with their bill. Cracking it open, she pulled out the small slip of paper and read what was printed on it:

**TODAY COULD BE YOUR LUCKY DAY**

"That's amazing! I said today might be our lucky day and the cookie says the same thing!" she exclaimed. "What's your fortune, Sherlock?"

"Pure coincidence and poppycock; I do not believe that a piece of paper baked inside a hard little nasty-tasting cookie can predict my future," he said gruffly.

"Just read your cookie, Sherlock! Please?"

Sherlock let out a little sigh and the corner of his mouth curled down a bit showing some exasperation at the silly idea. He broke the cookie open at Molly's insistence and read the printed fortune inside:

**BIG THINGS SOMETIMES COME IN SMALL PACKAGES**

"Just a worn out aphorism," he said, rolling the slip of paper between his fingers and dropping on the table.

Molly laughed and took her coat off the back of the empty chair beside her as she stood up. "I wouldn't be quite so sure of that," she said. "Shall we leave?"

"Most definitely," said Sherlock as he stood up and helped her with her coat. "All of this word play is making me very curious about your surprise, Miss Hooper."


	3. Chapter 3

**Sherlock and the Little People**

By Doctor Napalm

Chapter 3

The morgue was chilly as usual when Molly and Sherlock entered. Billy was examining the contents of a small white box on the counter and turned around. "Everything's ready for the autopsy, Doctor Hooper," he said. "The x-rays are on the desk and his personal belongings are in this box," motioning with his hand at the box he had been looking in.

Molly picked up the x-rays and glanced at the body on the stainless steel table. It had been removed from the black body bag and was now covered with a clean white sheet.

Sherlock walked to the table and pulled back the sheet. "A midget! I suspected as much from your recent penchant for using diminutive words. And what makes you think this little person is of interest to me?"

"Take a look at his clothing," Molly said as she flipped through the x-rays.

Sherlock reached into the box and pulled out the green jacket. "Slightly interesting, I suppose," he said as he turned it inside out and examined it carefully. "Hand tailored velvet, very well made, high quality, certainly not a cheap garment." Placing the jacket back in the box, he pulled out the matching cap. "A fine piece of workmanship," he continued. "This is a professionally tailored suit, not a cheap off-the rack costume." Sherlock poked around at the rest of Mister Kavanagh's belongings and pulled out a small leather drawstring bag.

"The x-rays show massive blunt force to the back of the head," Molly offered, "most likely cause of death, I'd say."

Untying the strings of the bag, Sherlock popped it open and sneezed as he got an unexpected puff of golden-colored dust in his nostrils. "What the…!" he exclaimed and shook his head.

Molly turned her head towards him. "Are you all right?" she asked.

"I'm not sure," he muttered as he blinked his eyes and looked inside the pouch. "Some sort of superstitious talisman..." Sherlock staggered and braced himself with his hand on the counter before his legs buckled and he slid to the cold tile floor.

ɸ

Sherlock kept his eyes closed as he slowly regained consciousness. He moaned lightly as he moved his head slightly. His muscles ached. He suddenly realized a moment of disorientation. Where was he? What happened? He snapped his eyes wide open and sat up in the bed. "Where am I?"

"You're in a private room at Bart's," said Dr. John Watson, who was sitting in a chair across the room. "You passed out after getting a snoot full of pixie dust of some kind."

"The autopsy!" Sherlock exclaimed and fell back onto the pillow as his aching muscles screamed from the sudden movement.

"Yes, that's right. Molly says you opened a leprechaun's amulet that was some sort of homeopathic pepper spray. It knocked you for a loop."

"There's no such thing as leprechauns," Sherlock snorted as he stared at the ceiling tiles. "How long…"

"Two days."

"I've been sleeping for two days?"

"Yes."

"What else?"

John shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I believe I'll let Molly fill you in on the details," he said as he took his mobile out of his pocket and dialed her number.

"He's awake," he said when Molly answered.

John turned off the phone and put it back in his pocket. "She should be here momentarily."

"I feel like someone has beaten me all over," Sherlock muttered.

"Sore muscles?" asked John.

"Yes. Stiff and sore, I could use a cigarette to calm my nerves."

"Sorry, chap, hospital and all…no smoking. I don't think the nicotine would be all that good for your system right now anyway."

Sherlock closed his eyes and sighed. He wanted to get out of bed but his aching muscles convinced him it would be best to remain still for a while.

Molly entered the room a few minutes later. "The sleeper wakes!" she said cheerfully. "How are you feeling?"

"Terrible, I ache all over," replied Sherlock. "What happened?"

"You opened a little leather bag and hit the floor like a sack of potatoes. I called a crash team and they got you to a room immediately. All your vital signs have been normal except that you've been in a light coma until now."

"What else?"

Molly glanced at John who shook his head no.

"Um, nothing else except…" Molly paused.

"Except what?"

"You're green," she whispered.

"I'm what!?"

"Your skin has turned green. I'm sure that…"

Sherlock sat up in bed again and stuck his hand in front of his face.

"I'm sure it's just temporary, " Molly said.

Green! His hand was green! "Mirror! Give me a mirror!" he exclaimed.

Molly opened the top drawer of the bedside table, took out a small hand mirror, and timidly handed it to Sherlock.

"I look like a stalk of asparagus!" he cried as he examined his reflection. "All over?" he asked.

"I'm afraid so," Molly nodded, taking a step back.

"I'm turning into a bloody frog!" he screamed, turning his head back and forth, looking in the mirror. "Ballocks…"

"The press is having fun with it," chimed in John cheerfully.

"What?"

"You don't think the world famous consulting detective turning green could be kept quiet, do you? Someone on the staff must have leaked the info," John said as he held up a tabloid newspaper.

On the cover page was the picture he hated most, the one with the deerstalker cap…except they had Photoshopped his face bright green. Underneath, in gigantic bold capital letters, it screamed, "**SHAMROCK HOLMES?"**

"Double ballocks!" he said and fell back in the bed again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Sherlock and the Little People**

By Doctor Napalm

Chapter 4

"Take the sheet off of your head."

Sherlock Holmes turned his head under the bed sheet in the general direction that Molly Hooper was standing.

"No. Nobody needs to see me like this."

"Everyone in the hospital has seen you like that. Take off the sheet or I'm leaving."

Sherlock slowly pulled the sheet down to reveal his still green features. The corners of his mouth were curled down in a frown. He pushed his lower lip out a bit more and looked up at Molly. "I want to go home."

"Just a while longer," she said patiently, "that's all. I think the green color might befading a little. You could be back to normal in a couple of weeks. Pouting isn't going to speed things up a bit."

Sherlock gave her a determined look. "I have been a patient patient. I have been poked and prodded, tested and re-tested. I've given enough blood to keep the Red Cross supplied for the rest of the year. That's not to mention other bodily fluids." He paused for a moment and smiled. "You'll be happy to hear that my swimmers are in the high normal range, by the way."

Molly blushed. "I did not need to know that, Sherlock."

"I have been X-rayed, CAT-scanned, PET-scanned, MRI'ed, EKG'ed, EEG'ed, plus had a half dozen other fancy tests they haven't even had time to create three letter acronyms for. They're running out of things they can do to me. They haven't found anything wrong with me except that I'm the wrong color. I'm ready to go home, I have work to do."

"Sherlock…"

"I'm serious, Molly. They've hidden my clothes. I want them back or I'm walking home in a hospital gown with my beautiful green bum in full view of everyone. You know I'll do it."

Molly sighed. She knew he would. The rent-a-cop security at Bart's would be no match for him and someone that paraded around the royal residence in a bed sheet would have no problem being seen in a hospital gown.

"Let me see what I can do. I'm not your primary physician, you know. I'll have to talk to people."

"See that you do. I need to get busy on the case of the dead midget."

"Um, about that…" Molly interrupted.

"What?"

"He's gone."

"What you mean 'He's gone?'"

Molly tilted her head back and looked at the ceiling. She had been dreading this conversation. She took a deep breath and blew it out quickly.

"With all of the excitement caused by you passing out, getting you into a room, and everything else, I didn't get back to the morgue until the next morning. When I walked in, the leprechaun, his clothing, and all of his belongings were gone."

"Will everyone PLEASE stop calling it a leprechaun!" Sherlock huffed. "A dead midget! That's all it was. I might tolerate calling him a 'little person,' but there is no such thing as leprechauns. A pee-wee person, an itty-bitty body, a..." He hesitated. "Gone? And you have no idea where? Did anyone check the video from the security cameras?"

"No one has the faintest idea. There's nothing on the security videos, he just vanished into thin air."

"Impossible. Bodies don't just vanish, someone or something moved it. What do you have?"

"We have the autopsy order, the X-rays, and Billy's inventory of his belongings. Lestrade has some photos taken of the body before it was transported here."

Sherlock thought for a long moment. "Then that will have to do." Looking sternly at Molly he said, "Get me out of here or I'm walking!"

**ɸ**

Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade of the Metropolitan Police Service was leaned back in his chair with his feet resting on the corner of the desk. Seargent Sally Donovan and Anderson from forensics sat across the desk from him. Both were looking somewhat uncomfortable.

"So, do we have anything new on the leprechaun murder?" he asked, waving a manila folder in the air.

"Not much," said Donovan. "He mysteriously appeared on the grid about two years ago. We haven't been able to find anything earlier than that. His address is an open field, nobody in the area claims to know him. There's no paper trail whatsoever, no credit cards, no birth records. No legal documents of any kind that we've been able to uncover. Everything we found in his wallet was phony. We also did a canvas of the area where the body was found but didn't get anything of importance there either. His trail is cold as clay."

"Witness protection?" asked Lestrade.

"I'm looking into that," Donovan replied, "but I haven't heard back from any of the inquiries I sent out yet."

"Forensics?" Lestrade said, turning his head towards Anderson.

"Nothing here either," answered Anderson. "We have the crime scene photos plus copies of X-rays and a list of belongings that we got from Bart's. We took prints but they aren't on record anywhere. We also did a careful search of the morgue; there's no indication that the little shite was ever there at all."

Lestrade frowned. "I know both of you aren't going to like this," he said, "but I think it's time to call on the Green Man."

Donovan and Anderson both smiled at the green reference despite their mutual distaste for Sherlock Holmes. His recent misfortunes had given both of them a lot of laughter during the last few days.

"More like the Green Hornet," said Donovan.

"No," snickered Anderson, "the Green Weenie."

**ɸ**

Three hours later, Sherlock knocked on Molly's office door. "I'm a free man," he announced with a smile as he entered her tiny space.

"I think the threat of seeing your shiny green bum walking down Giltspur Street did the trick," Molly teased.

"Also, Lestrade has officially asked for my assistance in regards to the missing midget, so may I be permitted to examine the scene properly?"

"Most certainly, sir!" Molly said as she stood up and walked around the desk, "this way please!"

Sherlock followed her out the door towards the morgue. "I'll need to see the video from that day as well."

"I'll have the security department provide you with a copy when we're done in the morgue," she replied.

Billy the intern was busy sweeping the already clean floor when Molly and Sherlock entered. Today's T-shirt was dark blue with a Wong-Baker pain picture chart on the front. Three additional pictures had been added to the numbered chart. A number zero replaced the happy face with a peaceful one that was obviously mellowed out on drugs. Number eleven showed the face screaming in agony and the twelfth picture added blood spurting out of the eyes.

Setting aside the broom, he greeted them, "Good afternoon, Doctor Hooper and Mister Holmes! How may I be of assistance to you today?" He grinned a bit when he noticed Sherlock was still rather green, but didn't comment on it.

Sherlock glanced around the morgue and then asked, "What did the police forensics team look at when they came in about the body that disappeared?"

"The leprechaun?"

Sherlock closed his eyes for a second in exasperation but didn't rail about the term "leprechaun." Letting out a little sigh he answered, "Yes, where did they look?"

"Pretty much nowhere; there really wasn't much to look at. Everything except the X-rays and the empty property box were gone. They asked me a bunch of questions, gave the place a quick look, and then left."

"Tell me, step by step, and in detail, what transpired from the moment the body arrived to when it was discovered missing," said Sherlock.

"Well, let me think…" Billy rubbed the stubble on his chin with his thumb and forefinger as he thought for a moment.

"Joe and Barney came in with the body on a collapsible gurney and moved the bag onto that exam table over there," he pointed with his finger.

Sherlock held up his hand. "Bag?"

"Yeah, most of the people that come in here horizontally are in a body bag," Billy replied. "And there are a few vertical ones that ought to be," he added jokingly.

"There was no bag when I saw the body. Where is it now?"

Billy frowned as he thought about the question. "Mike and I took him out of the bag when we put him on the table over in the x-ray department."

"What was done with the bag?"

"They were supposed to put it in with the bio-hazard waste."

"Supposed to?"

"Well…" Billy hesitated and looked at Molly with raised eyebrows.

Molly cleared her throat, "Ahem…heavy duty body bags are relatively expensive. Some of the staff has been known to occasionally put the nicer bags in storage for later. I guess you could call it 'recycling.' They're returned to the ambulance crews that brought them in for, uh…monetary consideration. That's only if they aren't contaminated with blood or other organic matter. However, that is NOT official policy, and some people could get in trouble if other people knew about it."

"And this bag was…?"

"Nice and clean," said Billy.

"So there is a chance it is in storage somewhere."

"Uh, yeah, probably so."


	5. Chapter 5

**Sherlock and the Little People**

By Doctor Napalm

Chapter 5

John Watson looked up from posting on his blog when the telephone rang. The caller ID showed it was Sherlock Holmes.

"Hello Sherlock," he said distractedly.

"I'm busy and need you to do some research for me right away," Sherlock ordered.

John sighed; his blog post would have to be put on hold. Sherlock would not give him a moment's peace unless he dropped everything and started work on whatever abstruse thing it was he needed this time.

"All right, what can I do for you?" he said in a resigned tone of voice.

"I need all the information you can locate on a confectioner; I have a partial name and some of the ingredients from one of their products from a piece of wrapper."

John loaded a notepad application on his laptop and prepared to type. "Go ahead with what you have," he said.

"The company name begins with Swee, S-W-E-E, and the ingredients include sugar, nougat, pistachios, artificial flavors, and…bacon. Nougat with bacon."

John could imagine the detective shuddering at the thought.

"The product name is Irish Rain-something. A green and silver colored wrapper," the detective continued.

John smiled. "That sounds like an Irish Rainbow," he said with a chuckle. "It's soft, mint-flavored nougat in a green and white-striped hard candy shell. I remember the bacon, and I believe it has coconut as well as pistachios in it also. The mother of one of my Yank friends sent them to him in Afghanistan regularly on the belief that they wouldn't melt as badly in the heat as chocolate would. He hated them but wouldn't tell her; always trying to give them away. Nasty little things, it has to be an acquired taste. I believe it's an American product, I've never seen them here in the UK."

"Wonderful!" said Sherlock, "contact the manufacturer for a list of distributors."

**ɸ**

Sherlock hung up without saying "thank you" or "goodbye," and turned to look at Molly.

"Regarding the injury to the back of the skull," he asked, "how severe was it?"

"The little fellow took a pretty hard wallop," Molly answered. She held up the x-ray film and examined it again. "It's difficult to judge exactly how hard from just an x-ray, but it was definitely a fatal blow."

"Could it have been a wooden club?" Sherlock asked.

"No, I don't think so. The fracture lines tend to indicate a round object rather than a club."

"How about a club with a large rounded knob on the end?" he asked again.

Molly looked again at the x-ray. "Well, yes, I suppose that might do it. It would have to be rather heavy, perhaps a kilo or so."

Sherlock turned to the microscope on the desk beside him and looked in the eyepiece. "I believe this small splinter of wood I found in the body bag may be from the murder weapon," he said. "An ancient Irish martial arts device made of Blackthorn wood with a high black polish."

"Martial arts?" Molly said. "I wasn't aware that the Irish were that well known for the martial arts."

"One of the traditional Irish walking sticks with a large rounded handle can be a formidable weapon," Sherlock explained. "A cudgel carved from the branch of a Blackthorn bush is coated with butter and placed in a chimney to cure for several months. The handle is sometimes hollowed out and filled with lead…they are quite deadly."

"A shillelagh? Oh, come off of it! Are you saying the leprechaun was killed with a shillelagh?"

Sherlock pursed his lips and then reluctantly answered, "Yes, that's another word for it."

**ɸ**

Sherlock opened the door to his flat and hung up his Belstaff coat. Taking of his scarf which he had carefully wrapped to hide most of his green face, he saw John Watson busy on the laptop.

"What did you find out about the sweets manufacturer, John?" he said.

John pressed a few more keys on the laptop then took a sheet of paper out of the printer tray. "Is this it?" he asked, holding it up for Sherlock to see.

On the paper was a picture of a green and silver wrapper labeled "Irish Rainbow." Above the picture appeared the slogan "TASTE THE RAINBOW, ITS BACON!"

"Yes," Sherlock said with a disgusted tone of voice, "that's it."

"Sweeney and Sons, a third generation, privately-owned company in upstate New York," John continued. "I was correct. It's an American product, which sort of explains the strange combination of ingredients. They tend to put bacon in everything and think it tastes good. Sweeney has been making Irish Rainbows for over a hundred years, but they only became tremendously popular about ten years ago."

"Go on…"

"It seems some Hollywood star mentioned he liked them on a late night talk show and their sales shot through the roof the next day. They still can't make enough of them."

"Available in the UK?" asked Sherlock.

"Not exactly."

"What, exactly?"

"It's just a small six person operation. No distributors or agents whatsoever. But they do take orders for their products over the Internet. I spoke with the owner and he confirmed that they shipped an order for three hundred bars to an address in London less than a month ago."

"Excellent work, Watson! You have the address?"

"Yes, it's a pub just a few blocks from where they found the leprechaun."


	6. Chapter 6

**Sherlock and the Little People**

By Doctor Napalm

Chapter 6

Sherlock replaced the cap on the bottle of liquid foundation makeup and examined his face in the mirror. Not perfect, but it would have to do.

John put down the newspaper he was reading and looked up at Sherlock.

"What do you think?" asked his flatmate.

John tilted his head a bit and gave Sherlock a wry look. "Going to the zombie ball?" he replied.

"While I will agree that it is a bit pale and flat," Sherlock returned, "I believe this is an improvement over forest green."

"Just keep an eye out for morticians," John chuckled, "they might think one of their charges has escaped. You still look a bit green around the gills."

"This will have to do for now, it's time to visit the pub."

"About that…" began John.

"Yes?"

"I did some more research and I believe it may not actually be a classic pub in the strictest sense of the term."

"Oh? And what might it be?"

"I'm not really certain at this point," continued John, "but I get the impression it's some sort of gay sports bar."

"A gay sports bar…" Sherlock mused thoughtfully, "interesting."

"You might want to change your shirt before we go."

Sherlock turned back to the mirror and examined his collar. "I don't think I got any makeup on it," he mumbled.

"It's the color, Sherlock," John said, "you might give the wrong impression."

"Aubergine? What's wrong with that?"

"Whatever. It's purple. It's fine. Let's go."

**ɸ**

The building was one of the lower class storefronts in London's East End. Windows on the upper floors had been boarded over while the windows on the ground floor were painted over with black. Whitewash covering the old tan-colored bricks was peeling off in several places. Over the door a sign read "RAINBROS" in large brilliant green lettering along with several crudely drawn shamrocks. Underneath in smaller white lettering were the words 'Alternative Adult Entertainment - Members Only.' A small engraved plastic plaque beside the door announced 'Press Button For Admittance,' while the unblinking eye of a conspicuous security camera watched the entry. The muted sound of music with a deep thumping bass rhythm came from inside.

Sherlock pressed the button and waited.

Several seconds passed before a hidden speaker replied, "Yes?" The music could be heard more clearly through the speaker, pounding heavily.

"May we come in?" said Sherlock.

"Members only, go away."

"What if we want to be members?" said John.

"We aren't taking new members now. Go away."

"I believe we may have a common interest in someone who may be one of your members," said Sherlock.

"Our membership list is private. Go away."

"Patrick Kavanagh."

The speaker went silent for a few moments then came back on. "Wait," it said then went silent again.

Sherlock turned his head and looked at John, who looked back at him with a wary expression. "You may have hit a nerve," John said.

Sherlock started to reply but a loud buzz from the door interrupted him. "Come in," the speaker said.

Opening the door, the pair stepped into a dark entryway. Smoke and music assaulted them and flashing green lasers, neon, and strobe lights gave the interior the appearance of an old style disco. A rather short man wearing an argyle sweater and a green derby met them just inside the door. "This way," he said and motioned them to follow him.

Sherlock and John followed the man through the building, passing a well-stocked bar tended by a midget. He was standing on a short stool behind the bar and was dressed in a suit similar to the one that their missing leprechaun had been wearing. Above the bar, several shillelaghs were displayed along with clay pipes, black plastic pots filled with gold-colored plastic coins, and green cardboard top hats with silver and gold buckles. Sherlock noted an empty space in the display where a shillelagh appeared to have been displayed.

Continuing through the establishment there were several metal poles mounted on a free-standing stage. Another male midget dressed only in a skimpy pair of briefs covered with green sequins gyrated suggestively on one of the poles. Clustered around the stage were small tables with a few couples of the same gender nursing drinks and watching the show. After a few moments John finally recognized the background music as a rather fast and loud song by the American-Irish grunge band, Flogging Molly.

Their escort led them to a wooden door at the back of the establishment, opened it, and motioned for them to go in.


	7. Chapter 7

**Sherlock and the Little People**

By Doctor Napalm

Chapter 7

John entered the room first and immediately sensed that things were not normal. A man sitting behind an odd desk in the far corner invited him to have a seat. Expecting more green, John noted there was not a hint of the color in the strange office. He stepped towards the offered chair as Sherlock entered behind him. John experienced some disorientation as he noticed that the floor was not level but sloped down towards the chair. Looking up he saw that the ceiling also rose in that direction. All of the angles and surfaces of the room were totally wrong with the exception of the wall that the door was in. Sherlock remained in the doorway. The man waved him towards a second seat, but he remained standing where he was and looked around at the odd decor.

"Where's Patty?" the man asked with a rather harsh American accent.

"You are referring to Patrick Kavanagh?" Sherlock replied.

"That's his real name," the man said, "he goes by the name Patty O'Table here. A cheap joke, but I am not laughing. Where is the little son of a bitch?"

"Permit me to introduce myself, I am Sherlock Holmes, a consulting detective with the Metropolitan Police," Sherlock said, introducing himself. Gesturing towards John, he continued, "This is my associate Dr. John Watson. And you are…?"

"Oh, uh, I'm Jamie O'Reilly, owner of this fine establishment. Holmes…Holmes," he said thoughtfully, "that name rings a bell. You related to Mike, uh, Mycroft Holmes?"

"My reserved brother..."

"Bloody hell! I haven't seen Mike around here in forever! I owe him a drink for helping me out with all the bleedin' red tape when I opened up here. say 'Hi' to the old bastard next time you see him." Jamie frowned and looked at Sherlock. "So…you guys know where Patty is?"

Sherlock hesitated slightly while he processed the fact that Mycroft was apparently well known at Rainbros. "Unfortunately, we are searching for Mr. Kavanagh as well. He seems to have disappeared on us and hoped that someone here might know where he has gotten off to."

"Damn," the man grumbled, "if I get my hands on him, I'll kill the little bogtrotter."

Sherlock remained silent for a moment then asked, "Because?"

"He caused me a great financial loss by not showing up for work last week."

"I take it that he was one of your employees."

"Yeah, part-time bartender, full-time pain in the ass; and you're right, he WAS an employee because the little prick is fired! He was a major part of our St. Patrick's Day smack-down event and never came in. Our biggest day of the year here and he bails on me. I guess you noticed the Irish theme here at Rainbros…"

"It would be hard not to notice," Sherlock replied. "Smack-down event?"

"Thursday is midget wrestling night at Rainbros and he was supposed to be the A-show. We have a professional ring setup on the second floor. I booked it as 'Patty O'Table versus Paul Bunyan.' I've been promoting it as the money match for two months. A main event if there ever was one, and he just blows it off."

"Paul Bunyan wasn't Irish," Sherlock began.

"Ah, who the hell cares? He's a big-ass lumberjack! It's an annual event. Midgets versus giants, that's what it's all about. Two or three little good guys tag team a big bad guy and end up busting him in the head a few times with a chair. It's a gimmick. Damn, I even brought in a cow and had it painted blue."

"A blue cow?"

"Babe, the blue ox. Paul Bunyan's…uh, his pet…I guess. No, his mascot. Paul Bunyan's mascot was a blue ox."

"Interesting."

"Yeah, it would've been golden. Money in the bank except he was a no-show. I ended up refunding a crap load of money to the guests who paid for the show."

Changing the subject, Sherlock said, "I noticed one of your shillelaghs over the bar is missing."

"Yeah, most of the things on the walls out there are cheap plastic knockoffs, but that one was the genuine article. It disappeared the night before Patty did. I'm guessing the little shit took it when he closed up that night and is going to try to pawn it somewhere. The guy who sold it to me claimed it was magical. I never saw anything magic about it, but it looked damn good and I paid a pretty penny for it. Did a lot for the fug sway of this joint."

Sherlock put his hands in the pockets of his coat. "Well, if you locate Mr. Kavanagh, please contact the Metro Police."

"Yeah, I'll give them a call right after I kick his ass up between his shoulder blades."

"John, it's time for us to go. Thank you for your time, Mr. O'Reilly."

"Anytime, Mr. Holmes. Hey, come back next Thursday and I'll give you a visitor's pass for Gulliver versus the Lilliputians, it should be a great match."


	8. Chapter 8

**Sherlock and the Little People**

By Doctor Napalm

Chapter 8

John stood up and joined Sherlock at the door of the strange office.

"Oh," said Sherlock, "Mr. O'Reilly. There is some confusion over Mister Kavanagh's current home address, would you have that in your personnel files?"

"Yeah, sure, no problem." he replied, "Check with Milton, my bookkeeper on your way out. Ask Joey to point him out to you."

"Thank you," Sherlock said and the pair turned to leave.

Their escort in the green derby was standing the outside the office leaning against the wall, half asleep. His head popped up as they stepped through the doorway. "Mr. O'Reilly said we could talk to Milton the bookkeeper before we leave," Sherlock said.

He stared at them blankly for a moment while he processed the information and then blinked. "Okay, this way," he said, and pointed back towards the main room.

Leading them to the bar he whispered something to the bartender who climbed down off of the stool he was standing on and shuffled to the other end of the bar. Lifting a trap door in the floor, he shouted, "Miltie! Couple of guys here to see you!" and then let the trap door slam shut. Returning and climbing back on his stool, he smiled at Sherlock and John. "He'll be up in a minute. Like a drink on the house while you're waiting?"

John turned to look at Sherlock and raised his eyebrows with a whimsical smile.

"No, thank you," Sherlock replied.

John frowned but said nothing.

A few moments later the trap door opened and another short statured man climbed out. Dressed in a t-shirt and denim trousers, he wore not a stitch of green. He let the trap door slam shut and walked over beside the bartender. "What can I do for you gentlemen?" he asked.

Sherlock leaned towards the bar and peered over at the tiny man. "I need the home address of Patrick Kavanagh. Mr. O'Reilly said it was okay."

Milton rolled his eyes and heaved a big sigh. "Okay, wait a minute." Mumbling under his breath, he walked back to the trap door and disappeared into his hole, leaving the door open.

While they waited for the bookkeeper to return, John whispered to Sherlock. "You didn't tell O'Reilly that Kavanagh is dead."

"I didn't see the need," Sherlock replied. "I'm sure he will find out eventually."

Milton popped back out of his hideaway with a business card in his hand. He handed it to the bartender who, in turn, handed the card to Sherlock.

"There you are. His address is written on the back of the card."

Sherlock tucked the card in the pocket of his coat without looking at it. "Let's go, John," he said, and headed for the exit.

"Thanks," John said to the bookkeeper, and hurried to catch up with the sleuth.

Standing outside the bar, Sherlock reached into his pocket and withdrew the business card. Examining the address on the back for a moment, he snorted, "Worthless."

"What?" asked John.

"This address is worthless. Unless he lived on a boat in the middle of the Thames, this address does not exist."

"That figures," said John. "What next?"

"We take a look at the murder scene."

Sherlock and John walked to where Patrick Kavanagh's body had been found since it was only a short distance away from Rainbros. It was a seedy neighborhood where trash and loose paper collected in every secluded corner.

"What was up with that office?" John asked Sherlock as they walked, "Every angle was off. It made me feel rather uncomfortable."

"It was an Ames room," Sherlock replied.

"An Ames room?"

"An optical illusion. When viewed from a specific vantage point, anyone in the spot where you were appears tiny; while anyone where Mr. O'Reilly was appears gigantic. I noticed a concealed camera located at the viewing spot. I would imagine your image is probably part of Mr. O'Reilly's collection now."

"Why would he have an office like that?" said John, kicking a bit of stray trash out of his path.

"The manager of Rainbros appears to have a rather severe Napoleon Complex, also referred to as 'Short Man Syndrome.' Looking at photos of himself appearing as a giant in comparison to normal people may help him adjust to the fact that he is a shorty. It's possible that the photos could even be an aphrodisiac for him. Short Man Syndrome is not an officially recognized psychiatric disorder, but nonetheless…"

"He appears to have it," John said, finishing Sherlock's thought.

"Yes. You may have noticed that he appeared to be slightly over five feet tall. Five foot five inches at best. Yet, none of his employees were taller than he is."

"Mostly midgets and dwarves," said John.

"Exactly; he surrounds himself with people shorter than himself to boost his ego. He is also likely to be very aggressive and pushes himself to excel in everything; quick to anger when confronted or opposed. A common trait that might prove significant in regards to Mr. Kavanagh's death."

"We're there," said John as they arrived at the murder scene.


	9. Chapter 9

**Sherlock and the Little People**

By Doctor Napalm

Chapter 9

Holmes and Watson exited their cab in front of 221b Baker Street. The crime scene had revealed no new clues despite Sherlock's minute examination of every nook and cranny. Recent weather conditions, rain and some high winds, had effectively scoured the scene of any pertinent evidence. The only conclusion the detective had come to was that Patrick Kavanagh had been murdered elsewhere and the body had been dumped at the scene.

John took out his wallet to pay the cabbie while Sherlock waited impatiently. "I suppose I will have to rely on Anderson's pitiful photographs of the scene," he announced rather disparagingly.

"He does his best," John said in Anderson's defense.

"A three year old with a crayon could do better," the detective replied, and turned on his heel towards the door of the boarding house.

As if on cue, the door at 221b swung open revealing their landlady, Mrs. Hudson. "Welcome home, boys," she said in her ever-cheerful voice, "can you hold that taxi, John? I have some shopping to do."

John turned back to the cabbie, handed him the fare, and asked him to wait for a moment.

Mrs. Hudson stepped down onto the pavement and paused for a moment. "Oh, Sherlock, dear," she said, "some packages came for you this afternoon. I had the delivery boys put them in your kitchen."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson, I've been expecting them with great anticipation."

"They aren't for another of your dreadful experiments, are they?"

"No, not dreadful at all."

"I certainly hope not!" she said and shook her head. "It took me over a week to rid the house of that awful smell the last time."

"Nothing smelly this time," the detective assured her. "Might I borrow your ladder this evening?" he asked.

She hesitated a moment and gave him a suspicious look. "Help yourself, dear," she said and opened the taxi door, "it's in the storage room downstairs. Be sure to put it back when you're finished."

As they entered the door to the boarding house, Sherlock looked at John, "Would you mind fetching the ladder for me, John?"

John rolled his eyes upward and, in his best Mrs. Hudson imitation, said "I'm your flatmate dear, not your custodian!" and with that started climbing the stairs two at a time.

Several minutes later Sherlock struggled through the door of the flat dragging a large wooden ladder behind him and immediately took it into his bedroom.

Returning to the kitchen, he examined the boxes that had been delivered and then, one by one, took them into his bedroom as well.

"I will be busy the rest of the evening, John," he said, "I do not wish to be disturbed," and closed the bedroom door.

John raised his eyebrows and gave a slightly quizzical look. It wasn't the first time his flatmate had been secretive about his activities. He was sure he would find out what was going on eventually.

**ɸ**

The next morning John arose early and went to the kitchen to make some toast. The ladder was leaned against the wall outside Sherlock's bedroom door. Sherlock had banged and clattered and thumped for several hours the evening before and then everything had gone uncommonly quiet. There was still no evidence of what he had been doing.

Brewing a cup of tea and spreading some jam on his toast, John stared at Sherlock's door and wondered what his occasionally eccentric flatmate was up to. Most of the boxes had been very non-descript with no labels that revealed what might have been in them, although several were long, narrow, and marked "fragile/glass."

Taking bite of toast, he chewed it slowly and continued to stare at the bedroom door. "Hmmm," he murmured thoughtfully, and washed down the bite of toast with a sip of tea.

Walking to the window overlooking Baker Street, he pulled back the curtain and looked out. A light drizzling rain dotted the window panes with beads of water while the street below had developed a glistening oily sheen. John sighed as he considered the dismal weather.

Turning back into the room he looked again at Sherlock's bedroom door. What in the hell was he up to in there? "Damn it!" he said, and brushed the lingering crumbs of toast from his fingers against his trousers.

Purposefully striding to the bedroom door, John reached out and grasped the knob. He hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath and jerked the door open.

John's mouth dropped open and he blinked his eyes in disbelief. Sherlock Holmes lay spread-eagle on his bed wearing nothing but a pair of dark welder's goggles. The windows were covered with dark paper. Suspended from the ceiling on long chains, several long tubular light fixtures hovering mere inches above the detective's naked body giving off a darkish purple glow. Several items around the small room shone with an eerie whitish-purple gleam including Sherlock himself.

"What in the…" John began.

Sherlock turned his head and pulled the goggles up on his forehead. "Oh, it's you."

"What's all this?" John asked, waving his hand at the lights.

"Light therapy," Sherlock explained. "I noticed a few days ago that the exposed parts of my body were beginning to fade back to their normal color while the portions covered by clothing remained as dark as ever. It occurred to me that my skin color might be affected by exposure to light, particularly ultra-violet light. A bit like getting a suntan."

"So all of this is sort of a homebrewed tanning bed," John said.

"Exactly! Turn on the room lights," Sherlock asked as he reached to unplug the ultra-violet lamps.

John flipped the switch on the wall, and the room returned to its normal ambiance.

"What do you think?" Sherlock said as he stood up and turned around, waving his arms.

"First, I think you need to put some clothes on," John said in a slightly embarrassed tone of voice.

Sherlock paused and then looked down. "Oh, yes, of course. Modesty tends to not be of first importance to me at times." He picked up a towel and held it in front of himself. "Am I less green?"

John looked at his partner, trying to keep from smiling. "Keep it clinical," he thought to himself, all the while trying to push out of his head the image of Sherlock sprawled on the bed wearing nothing but the silly goggles.

"Well, you're still pretty green in most places, but I believe it has faded somewhat. You may have hit upon the solution," he said at last.

"I think a few more overnight sessions should do it," Sherlock remarked. "Ultra-violet light has some very interesting properties, not the least being its effect on exposed skin. And yet it's invisible to the…"

Sherlock paused. "That's it!" he exclaimed.

"That's what?" asked John.

"That's how it was done! That's how Kavanagh's body disappeared!"

"What? How?"

"UV lights! They used the UV lighting in the morgue!"

"There's no UV lighting in the morgue…"

"Oh, yes there is!" Sherlock crowed, dropping the towel. "Where's my phone?"

**ɸ**

Greg Lestrade glanced at the caller ID on his phone. "Sherlock Holmes," it announced. He frowned and picked up the receiver.

"Yes?" he answered. "Mmm, yes, I believe we do…no, that would be Anderson's department…no, Anderson…yes, that's right…he's got it…I don't care, you'll have to deal with him…nope, not my job…well, call me again if he won't…yes…okay, I'll let him know you're coming and ask him to cooperate…I'm sure he will…well, that's between you and him…."

**ɸ**

"Why should I help you?" asked Anderson.

Sherlock Holmes frowned. "Inspector Lestrade said you would cooperate. He is your boss, isn't he?"

"Well, actually…" Anderson hesitated for a moment. "Yes, I suppose he is. But I don't see why you need one. The forensics department isn't a lending library. You can't just come in and borrow our equipment on the spur of the moment. How do I know I'll get it back?"

"You have my word. You'll get it back."

"Your word?" Anderson looked at Sherlock with a hurt expression. "You gave me your word that you wouldn't tell Sally about my…uh…you know…the problem I asked you about."

"That's different. Anyway, technically I didn't tell Sally. I told John. John told Dimmock, and…well, word kind of got back to Sally through the grapevine."

"I was the laughing stock of the entire department for over a month," Anderson snorted. "I don't see any reason why I should cooperate with you."

"Did my advice fix your problem?" asked Sherlock.

Anderson stuck out his lower lip and pouted a bit. "Yeah, but it hurt like hell."

"So? Can I borrow one?"

"It's not that easy. You've got to do something for me first."

"I could always go down to the Force Firearms Unit and borrow one," said Sherlock.

"Nope. CO19 guards their equipment like it's made of solid gold. Even if they let you borrow one, you'd have to submit a requisition and send it through channels. You might get it sometime next year if you're lucky."

"I could buy one at just about any sports store in the city."

"A cheap one runs at least a hundred pounds and for what you're wanting to try you'll probably need one that's a lot more expensive than that. Quite a layout for a one-shot deal that you're not even sure will work."

"Mycroft…"

"He'd have to track one down, make some calls. He might get it for you next week. I have one right here in my storeroom."

Sherlock sighed. "What do you want me to do?"

Anderson looked carefully at Sherlock, smiled and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Hmmm, let me think for a minute…"

**ɸ**

"Did you get it?" asked John.

Sherlock held up a small leather bag. "At great personal sacrifice, yes."

"What did you have to do?"

"Don't ask, John. Don't ask."


	10. Chapter 10

**Sherlock and the Little People**

By Doctor Napalm

Chapter 10

Molly worked on finishing up some autopsy reports while she waited for Sherlock to arrive. He had called saying that he had a break in what she liked to think of as "The Case of the Missing Leprechaun." He was coming by to test his theory and needed access to the morgue. She smiled a bit when she thought about the chance to see him, even if it wasn't a social visit. While their relationship wasn't a torrid love affair as such, she would certainly like to step things up a notch or two with the romantically oblivious detective.

Looking at her notes, she paused and considered what to enter on the line labeled "Cause of Death" for Mr. Lester Davenport who had lost his balance after tripping on a crack in the sidewalk. Eyewitnesses said the portly Mr. Davenport had stumbled along for several yards at a relatively fast pace trying to regain his balance. Before doing so, he blundered in front of a bus load of people on a tour of the city. She was tempted to enter "stupidity" on the line, but opted for "traffic accident" instead. It sounded like a scene from a cheaply made comedy movie.

She made her way through several more reports before the detective arrived with John Watson in tow. "Hello, Molly!" he said as he entered and placed a small leather case on the corner of her desk.

"Hello, Sherlock. It appears you're starting to fade," she said cheerfully.

"Yes, I've been doing some…special therapy that seems to be helping speed it along."

"And just when I was starting to get used to you being green," she teased.

"Another few days and I expect to be nearly back to normal."

"Normal for Sherlock, anyway," said John.

Sherlock gave John a withering glance and then turned back to Molly. "I need to see the security videos from the morgue again," he said, changing the subject.

Molly saved her work on the computer and closed the application she was working with. "Yes, you mentioned that when you called. I have it right here," she said, and clicked the mouse on a taskbar button.

A still picture popped up on the screen showing the morgue with Sherlock, Molly and Billy the intern standing around the body. Sherlock moved behind her chair to better view the computer screen and John squeezed in beside him.

Pointing at the screen, Sherlock said "Run it."

Molly started the video and everyone on the screen started scurrying around madly. "Time lapse," said Sherlock, "just as I remembered. It looks like about one image every thirty seconds."

"They have full motion video for the hospital entrances and a few high security areas like the bursar's office and the pharmacy," replied Molly. "Places like the morgue aren't considered quite as important…security-wise anyway."

The figure of Sherlock on the video suddenly dropped to the floor with Molly and Billy huddled over him. A crash team appeared and loaded him onto a stretcher. Everyone scurried out of the room. The lighting suddenly changed and the image went from full color to a dismal gray.

"The lights in the room were turned off at this point," said Sherlock, "however the camera continues to record the scene using UV light."

Everything was still with no movement for a long time. Then suddenly the body on the examination table disappeared as if by magic. "There!" exclaimed Sherlock, "Pause it!" Molly clicked on the pause button.

"Now back it up to just before the body disappears." Molly clicked on the frame button and slowly flipped through the video images until the body reappeared on the table.

"Now, watch the lighting behind the examination table," he said. "Move forward one frame." Molly clicked forward to where the body disappeared and a faint glow appeared behind the examination table.

"One more frame," said Sherlock. She clicked again and the glow shifted position slightly. "Again." The glow shifted once more. "Again."

This time the glow disappeared and the lighting was stable for the following frames. "Interesting," said John.

"Precisely!" said Sherlock, "It proves my theory to be correct."

"Which is?" asked Molly.

"Let's go to the morgue and I'll show you," he said, picking up the leather case from her desk.

**ɸ**

As they entered the morgue, Sherlock turned around and looked up at the security camera mounted on the wall above the door. "Notice the ring of LED's around the lens," he said. "They emanate light in the ultra-violet range. Invisible to the human eye, but perfectly suitable for the camera."

He placed the leather case on a counter and opened it, taking out a strange looking contraption. Placing it on his head he made a few adjustments. "Night vision goggles," he explained.

John smiled. "Just like the ones we used in the military."

"Exactly!" replied Sherlock. "Whoever took the body wore night vision goggles when they entered the morgue."

"So they could see what they were doing in the dark," said Molly.

"Yes, but that's only part of it," Sherlock continued. "The camera snaps one image every thirty seconds. Without the goggles, you can't tell when the image is being taken."

He fiddled with the goggles a moment then said, "Turn off the lights."

John flipped off the light switch and the room went pitch black.

"There are no windows in the morgue, so the room is totally dark except for just a trace of the light from the hall coming through under the door," Sherlock said. "Not enough to see anything with."

He reached out and pinched Molly's arm.

"Ouch!" she exclaimed, "That hurt!"

"I was just demonstrating that I can see you perfectly, while you are totally unaware of anything or anyone in the room."

"You sound like you think I'm totally oblivious. Of course I know you are there!"

"But you can't see me," he explained.

"Well, don't pinch me again unless you want me to give you a good slap," she warned.

"I think it would be wise to listen to the lady," said John.

"There!" Sherlock shouted.

"What?" Molly asked.

"The camera just took an image."

"How do you know that?"

"With the goggles I could see the camera's UV lights switch on and off. I have thirty seconds to move about in the room before another image is taken."

"And you can hide before the next picture is snapped!" exclaimed Molly.

"Exactly. Go ahead and turn the lights back on, John."

The morgue lights came back on and Sherlock removed the goggles, placing them back in their case. "Whoever took the body wore some type of night vision gear. They entered the door under the camera, out of its field of view. Once the saw it take an image, they moved into the room and took the body off of the examination table and hid behind the table where the camera couldn't see them. They did something behind the table for a few more frames and then left the room with the body. The flickering glow behind the table in the security video is from the UV lights on their night vision gear."

"Ingenious!" said Molly.

"Yes, rather clever indeed. We now know how they did it, next we need to determine who was responsible. An examination of the security videos from other cameras in the hospital should reveal the answer. Molly?"

"Yes, Sherlock?" she answered.

"Would you contact the security department and request copies of all available security videos for a period of thirty minutes before and after the body disappeared?"

Molly smiled and nodded. "Of course I will. I'll call you when they're ready."

"I'll also need a rudimentary floor plan of Bart's showing where each camera is located."

"Got it!" she said crisply, giving a little salute.

Sherlock picked up the leather case containing the night vision goggles. "Time to go, John. I need to get these back before Anderson starts whining about them."

With that he turned and quickly headed out the door. John smiled at Molly, then turned to catch up.

Molly watched the door as it slowly closed behind them. "Goodbye, Sherlock," she said quietly to herself.


	11. Chapter 11

**Sherlock and the Little People**

By Doctor Napalm

Chapter 11

John stared at his laptop and frowned as the operating system booted up. He didn't want to update his blog, but it had been several days since he had made any entries. If he didn't post something soon, folks would stop checking in. A drop in visitors would be mirrored by a drop in the meager income that the banner ads generated. He sighed and stared at the screen while program shortcuts started to appear. He thought about what he could write about. The thing with the UV light might be of interest, and the Ames room held some possibilities as well. He would have to do some research on both subjects though. He didn't want to just spout off on the topics without at least some background info. He frowned again. The thought of doing research bored him.

Clicking on the shortcut to his browser, the screen quickly displayed the welcome screen for his blog. He sighed again, the inspiration just wasn't there. He smiled as he decided to just surf around a little bit until he was in the mood.

Clicking on the favorites tab, he scrolled down the list of possible destinations and decided on Facebook. He hadn't checked in there for a while, surely there would be something that would get his creative juices flowing.

Recipes, family pictures, inane YouTube videos, links to various political and religious blogs from both sides of the fence…the usual mind numbing things that barely deserved a glance flitted by as he scrolled down the page. Nothing…nothing…nothing…not – wait, what was that?

He scrolled back up to get a closer look at a picture that had been uploaded a few hours earlier by Anderson. Sherlock's head, in all its greenness, had been Photoshopped onto the body of Kermit the Frog. Gigantic text in white Arial Bold blazed across the bottom of the photo: "Actually, it's rather easy being green."

John snorted loudly and Sherlock, who had been busy with something involving mice and petri dishes in the kitchen, asked, "What?"

"Anderson posted a picture of you on Facebook…"

"Oh, that," Sherlock said in a somber tone of voice. "I suspected he would try to embarrass me with it. His way of punishing me for asking to borrow his UV goggles. How bad is it?"

"I would have to say it's gone viral. There are already over four hundred shares and nearly a thousand comments…and Anderson doesn't have very many friends on Facebook."

Sherlock walked over and glanced at the photo on the screen. "Hmmm," he mused, "poorly executed and not very flattering."

"You don't seem very upset," remarked John.

Sherlock smiled and patted John on the shoulder. "Don't worry," he replied, "his comeuppance already awaits him."

"Oh, really?" asked John.

Sherlock, still smiling, turned and walked back towards the kitchen. "Yes," he said, "to phrase it colloquially, Karma can be a bitch."

**ɸ**

Sherlock's mobile beeped, the ringtone alerted him that Molly Hooper was calling. He put down the dish of mouse tails and pulled the phone from his pocket. "Yes, Molly?"

"I just received a copy of the security videos you asked for," she said, "I'm getting ready to leave work for the day, would you like me stop by your flat on my way home with the DVD?"

"That would be most helpful. Don't forget that I need a map of the camera locations."

"I already have it printed out," she replied. "I'll see you in a little while."

"Thank you, Molly." Sherlock disconnected and pocketed the phone.

**ɸ**

"I stopped and picked up some Thai," Molly announced as she opened the door to Sherlock and John's flat.

"Wonderful!" said John, pushing his chair back and stood up as Molly started taking food out of the large white paper bag and putting it on the table.

"You brought the DVD?" Sherlock asked.

"Of course," Molly answered, "that's why I'm here, silly. It's in my purse. Be patient and I'll get it for you."

Appropriately admonished, Sherlock pursed his lips and waited for Molly to finish emptying the bag. She announced each dish as she took it out of the bag. "Some crab rangoon, a little bit of vegetable rainbow, a generous portion of cupid wings, and a large order of nuea ping." She smiled and turned around to face Sherlock. "Help yourself!" she announced.

"The DVD?" Sherlock reminded her as John picked up a cupid wing and began to nibble.

Molly's smile vanished and she blinked her eyes slowly. "Of course," she said, reaching for her purse on the table. She pulled the disk from her purse and handed it to the consulting detective. "Here."

"And the map?"

"It's in the paper sleeve," she sighed.

Sherlock turned, walked over, and sat down behind John's laptop without another word.

Picking up a skewer of nuea ping, Molly followed him. Standing behind his chair she leaned over and watched as he inserted the DVD and unfolded the map. Reaching around, she waved the food in front of his face.

Sherlock took a bite of the offered beef and mumbled, "Mmm, thanks."

"You're welcome," she said.

John joined the pair, nibbling on another cupid wing. "Thanks, Molly," he said, "this is delicious."

"I thought we might make an evening of it, watching this exciting DVD," Molly teased.

John let out a little laugh. "I'm not sure 'exciting' would be my choice of words," he said. "Did you happen to see Anderson's latest post on Facebook?"

"Yes," she said, "that was mean."

Sherlock accessed the DVD and listed the files on it while taking another bite from the skewer in Molly's hand. "It appears that the files are sorted by camera number," he said, looking at the hand-drawn map. "Camera 12 is just around the corner from the morgue, let's see what it has to offer."

Clicking on the file numbered 12, a video player application popped up and started to display a hallway in Barts. As people rushed up and down the hallway, Sherlock clicked on a control button slowing the video down. "One frame taken every thirty seconds," he commented. "When played back at twenty-five frames per second everyone moves at warp speed. You can watch an entire day in less than an hour, but you have to slow it down to actually see anything happening."

Noting the time stamp on the video, Sherlock moved past the point that he had been wheeled out of the morgue and slowed the display to a crawl. The hallway remained mostly empty, but people appeared on the screen occasionally. He paused each time someone was in the frame and examined them carefully. He determined the first seven figures were of no interest, but then two figures appeared pushing a laundry cart.

Sherlock stood up and stared at the screen. "Oh! Marvelous!" he exclaimed, clapping his hands, "What have we here?"

John and Molly both leaned forward and looked at the screen. "No," John said, "that's not possible."

"Anything is possible, John," Sherlock said as he looked closely at the screen and smiled, "we have another piece of the puzzle!"

Molly looked at Sherlock, then back at the screen. "A piece that doesn't fit," she said.

"It will," Sherlock murmured, "it will."

ɸ

_**Author's Note**__**:**__ Sorry for the long delay on publishing this chapter, I had to take some time to think about how to resolve a few details and to decide which direction I wanted to go from here. Hold on tight, there are some interesting plot twists just ahead._


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